


Against the Cold

by ConquisteloCait



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConquisteloCait/pseuds/ConquisteloCait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is war; we were both created for it, and it’s all we have ever known. So let me take you away from all of that for a moment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> “One of my core skills is the ability to ride anything, be it mortal or divine. Once I mount it and grab hold of the reins, I can more or less feel my way through.”
> 
> Prompted by Irisviel’s cryptic giggling once Saber says this line (this is the translation off the Crunchyroll.com version of episode 3. Subsequent viewings have translated this line differently, but this one was more fun). Especially after seeing Einzbern Consultation Room, you know for sure that Iri has some less than ladylike things on her mind with that cryptic giggle. ECR also confirms that Arturia was, in fact, married to Guinevere, which is promising for shipping purposes. 
> 
> Also my first PWP, so there's that, too :D

 

                Irisviel was used to the cold. She had been ‘born’ into it, and the castle the Einzberns still stubbornly called home was drafty enough as it was, made worse by the constant storm of snow outside its walls. It was not as if the castle did not have heating – such modern fixtures had been deemed appropriate for installation shortly after their inventions. Still, the fireplaces and vents were often fighting a losing battle against the cold which seemed to press inside from every available crack and frozen pane of glass.

                This did not mean that she found it pleasant. The trip from her room to the kitchen for a hot cup of tea was as quick as she could make it, with only her dressing gown to come between her and the late-night dark chill of the hallways. The one small blessing in all of this was that going barefoot was no longer an issue – she had lost sensation in her feet first.

                When she returns to her room, she goes to great lengths to shut the door as quietly as possible, so as not to alert the attentive servant next door that she was out of bed. When she turns around she starts, but then chuckles quietly. Saber is kneeling by her fireplace, stoking the apathetic coals back to life and adding new wood to the blaze. Honestly, Irisviel thinks to herself, she ought to know better. It wasn’t as if the heroic spirit slept, and Irisviel could hardly blink without Saber sending her a piercing glance, as if she were taking constant stock of Irisviel’s well-being. It was sweet, if a bit exasperating.

                “You take such good care of me,” she says brightly, admitting defeat with grace and a smile. Saber looks up and furrows her brow.

                “You are not wearing shoes, Irisviel. In this climate, it would be very easy for you to fall ill. If you have need of anything, my quarters are easily within-”

                “Hush, Saber.” Irisviel settles herself by the Servant, tucking her legs beneath her and smoothing her nightgown with the hand not holding her tea. Saber obediently quiets, but looks unsatisfied. “I am not made of glass, as we have discussed before. And furthermore, your duties as servant do not extend to anything quite so mundane as fetching me tea. I am perfectly capable of it, I am used to the cold, and I am just fine.” She smiles; Saber’s face has relaxed, but into an unreadable expression. “Besides, had I known that you would be up and investigating the minute I left my bedroom, I would have brought _you_ tea as well.”

                Saber turns her attention to the fireplace, watching a log crackle and shift, sending sparks up into the chimney. “I do not require physical sustenance, so there is no need, “she says easily, distantly. For some reason, this irks something inside Irisviel, and she wonders – not for the first time – how far those limitations extend.

                “Saber,” she begins, curiosity winning out. “I know that, for the duration of the war, you have this physical shell. It’s comprised of mana but…does it…work like a human body would? The way yours did?”

                Saber turns back, blinks at her. “I do not understand. What exactly do you wish to know?”

                Irisviel, caught, figures it would be best to start out slow. “Well…for one, _can_ you eat? Could you enjoy food or drink here?” A thought, and she self-corrects. “Wait, you did have that wine with Archer and Rider. Or was it different because it was ethereal?”

                Nodding, Saber shifts until she is seated cross-legged, though Irisviel notices that her back is still straight, her posture still perfectly alert. “Yes…I can imbibe anything I choose, though I do not need to. However, because it is not a physical action meant to keep the body functioning, the food will not process – it will merely dissipate. It would be for sensation alone, though I see no point in it.”

                The phrasing of that last sentence leads Irisviel further into the territory she has _really_ been curious about, ever since she first was set to the task of being Saber’s ‘Master’ and choosing her clothes. Since the first time she watched Saber from behind, pulling on an undershirt and shrugging into a button-up blouse, the muscles of her shoulder blades moving like water.

                “Don’t you miss the physicality of it, though? Of living? Why not take advantage of that now?” She sips her tea. Rolls the strong taste of it around her tongue. Saber tilts her head, looks at her askance.

                “Again, I do not see the point. My purpose here is to focus on winning the Holy Grail war, and by extension, protecting you. There is no point to involving needless distractions in the meantime.”

                “Saber – Were you married to Guinevere?”

                Irisviel startles herself with the suddenness of the question. There is a long stretch of silence, during which Saber turns her gaze back into the fireplace, her mouth tight. After a moment, her tongue pokes through her lips to wet them – an uncharacteristically human gesture for her, Irisviel notes – and she speaks more to the fire than to the woman beside her.

                “I was. My advisors felt that it would be necessary for me to have a Queen by my side. It was primarily for appearance’s sake, and so there would be someone to handle the running of Camelot when I was away on campaigns. Of course there could be no children, but I…was not sure that I…” Saber pauses, the crease in her forehead deepening as she sought the right words. “…Would be present often enough to properly prepare a child for the responsibilities of the throne, so the issue of an heir was not foremost on my mind.”

                Saber looks down at her own leg. Irisviel has reached forward, placing a gentle hand there and is looking into her eyes with understanding. “You mean that you did not want to place the same burden you suffered onto anyone else.” Irisviel can feel Saber tense through the muscles in her thigh, but she eventually gives a succinct nod. Irisviel does not remove her hand. “Did you love her?” She does not know where these bold questions are coming from – they obviously are difficult for Saber – but they’ve been chewing at the edges of her mind for days, and she is increasingly curious about the distant figure who has become her protector.

                Saber, for her part, is rigid. “I was diligent to her needs. I tried to make sure she was cared for.”

                Irisviel softens her voice, squeezes Saber’s leg. “That’s not exactly what I asked.”

                Saber’s green eyes are troubled. “…There was so much to do. I was so often away.” Her gaze falls to the carpet. When she speaks, her voice is thin.  “She was very beautiful.”

                Irisviel lets it go, and instead slides her hand up Saber’s arm, scooting closer to rest her hand and chin on Saber’s shoulder. She is surprised to find that Saber has a smell to her – something fresh and akin to woodsmoke, separate from the wood of the fire. Wintery. Primeval. Saber turns her head, meeting eyes with her for the first time, her eyebrows raised in a question.

                “Irisviel?”

                “Saber…” Irisviel breathes the name into Saber’s ear, performing a minor experiment. To her exasperation, it seems to have very little effect. For a moment she feels foolish, but then decides to try again. At some point during this question and answer session, she has come to a conclusion, and Irisviel has never backed away from something she was determined to see to the end. “I know you said that you _could_ experience sensation…but do you? Obviously you can feel pain, I’ve seen it in battle, but…? Anything else…?”

                Saber pulls away unexpectedly, and Irisviel has to brace herself to keep from toppling over. Infuriatingly, Saber appears to be searching her eyes for signs of distress or disease. “Irisviel, you are acting very strangely tonight. I wish you would be frank with me, so that I may know what is wrong, and - ”

                “Saber, if you kissed me, would you feel it?”

                Now she has well and truly shocked her temporary retainer. Saber stares at her, as if she is struggling to comprehend what she just heard. Irisviel hesitates, begins to draw back, thinks this is too much, she has pushed the Servant too far, when she notices – dizzily, with a surge of delight – that Saber is blushing.

                “I…could.” Saber clears her throat, tries again. “If I allocated mana for such a thing, but – Irisviel – _why_?”

                Irisviel giggles. “Oh Saber. Because you obviously never have. Because you are beautiful and fascinating to watch. Because you are strong, and delicate. Because it is cold outside, and warm in here. Because I want you to.”

                “But…Kiritsugu?” It is not a protest, but a question – one that Iri is prepared to answer.

                “Has someone else to keep him warm when he is not at the castle. We are both too practical for concerns like that. I do not begrudge him what comfort he can find in this world, especially in his work. For my part, I need very little and as such, take very little for myself. But…I want you to. You have been so very good to me, and I…want to,” she finishes, lamely. She looks up through her lashes, sheepish and smiling.

                This, whatever she has said or done, or maybe the way she is smiling, seems to do Saber in. She shifts, leans toward Irisviel. She seems intently focused and blinks more than is strictly necessary, closing an inch, only to retreat two. When they are scant inches apart and Saber withdraws one more time, Irisviel closes the distance between them with suddenness, throwing her arms around Saber’s neck and herself into Saber’s lap, swallowing the sound of surprise that comes from Saber’s throat.

The first kiss is cool, as if Saber were not manifesting well enough to infuse it with real blood-warmth. Then, slowly, her lips warm under Irisviel’s. Saber’s lips are pillow-soft and full, a purely feminine contrast to the calluses on her hands and her perfunctory exterior. They fit together in a way that Irisviel does not experience with Kiritsugu; There is no scratch of hair against her chin, no ashen taste of cigarettes. Instead, there is heat and softness and a biological taste of nothing that is distinctly human. She presses against Saber, alternating between firm pressure and a touch so soft that their lips are barely grazing. When she finally begins to grow dizzy, she pulls back, parts her lashes slowly, almost afraid to see Saber’s reaction.

Saber still has her eyes closed. Her lips are rosy and plump from the kiss and hang partly open as she breathes. Strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and give her a mussed, disheveled look that makes Irisviel’s chest feel heavy. Saber flutters her eyes open, looks up at Irisviel. Her expression is glazed.

“Did you like that?” Irisviel whispers, stroking her knuckle down Saber’s jawline. Saber moistens her lips again, nods. “Would you like me to do it again?” Hesitation, and then another nod.

 She does. This time, she settles her legs on either side of Saber’s, planting herself firmly in Saber’s lap. Saber seems afraid to move, completely out of her element in this scenario. It is endearing, albeit a little bit frustrating. Irisviel takes both of Saber’s hands in her own and draws them around herself, leaving Saber to clutch the fabric of her nightgown at the small of her back. She smiles, whispers against Saber’s lips, “You may touch. You may do whatever you like. With your permission, I certainly will.” Again the nod, and then they are kissing once more, this time with more surety. Saber seems to find her footing and tilts her head, dovetailing their mouths together, her grip on Irisviel’s back more possessive. Irisviel has trouble controlling the little sounds she is making, has never made before. She tries to scoot closer to Saber, but the position becomes awkward. She settles instead for snaking a hand between them and cupping the swell of Saber’s breast beneath her palm, massaging gently. There is too much fabric there for it to have much of an effect, but Saber’s fingers twitch regardless and she frees one hand to mimic Irisviel. The fabric of her nightgown is no real barrier, and she feels her nipple stiffen under Saber’s gloved hand. Fumbling, she attempts to pull Saber’s glove off, but it snags against Saber’s thumb. Increasingly frustrated, she tugs, refusing to break the kiss until Saber pulls away with a chuckle and removes the glove herself. Irisviel is reminded of the first time she was able to touch Saber – the glove being removed, Saber bowing as she offered it with a smile, her Knight Escort ready to show her the city neither of them had ever seen. She had thought, then, that Saber’s hands were beautiful – strong, slender-fingered, safe. Now all she wants is those same hands back against her body, touching wherever they please.

As if hearing her thoughts, Saber returns her hand to Irisviel’s breast, running her palm up and down, rubbing the fabric against the stiff peak of her nipple. Irisviel shivers, the sensation sending a direct jolt between her legs. As if to compensate, Saber slides her free hand up to brace Irisviel’s back. Her center of gravity shifts as Saber lays her gently backwards onto the rug, pushing her into the plushness of it with a kiss.

When they break for air, Irisviel begins to tug at Saber’s necktie, freeing it from its knot and tossing it behind her somewhere to be found in the morning. She begins to make quick work of Saber’s suit jacket, pushing it back over her shoulders with Saber moving her arms accommodatingly. By the time she has relieved Saber of her vest and begins work on her shirt, she is growing exasperated.  “Why on Earth do you have so many layers on?”

Saber lifts an eyebrow. “Because my Mistress decided that this ensemble matched her outfit and had it tailored to my measurements.”

She can’t refute that, and it _is_ a nice outfit, but it would be so much nicer somewhere other than on Saber at the moment. When she finally makes headway and begins to reveal the skin of Saber’s throat and collarbone, Saber ducks her head suddenly and averts her eyes, her face growing warm.

                Irisviel’s hands still and she blinks. Her Servant being bashful is not something she had ever anticipated seeing. “Saber? Is everything alright?”

                Saber raises her eyes slightly, looking at Irisviel through the fringe of her bangs. “I am…unused to being seen in such a state. I had to go to such great lengths to conceal my gender in my time.”

                Apparently being seen changing clothes is one thing to Saber, but this context is entirely another. Irisviel is relieved that Saber is, apparently, placing some measure of importance on this as opposed to viewing it clinically, as she was afraid Saber would. “Don’t worry…you are truly very beautiful. You may take my dress off, if you like,” she offers helpfully.

                 Saber has some difficulty accomplishing this, fumbling for the hem of the fabric and attempting to push it up over Irisviel’s waist. Irisviel chuckles and sits up, bringing Saber’s fingers to the drawstring ribbon at her breast, which she tugs. The top of the gown falls to her waist. Irisviel, never much for modesty, smiles as Saber looks her over. And continues to smile as Saber continues to look. “Saber,” she finally laughs, pulling the servant’s hands around her again, a pleased hum vibrating her throat at the feeling of Saber’s warm hands on her bare skin. Saber continues to hold her as Irisviel divests her of her shirt, pushing it away from well-muscled shoulders, with, she notes in delight, a dusting of brown freckles across the top.

                Irisviel recognizes the sports bra she picked out for Saber, which Saber was immediately taken with. She had praised its comfort and movability, sharing with Irisviel her experience with binding her breasts daily to help conceal her gender. It had been, she explained, something she had taken for granted because it had to be done, but she seemed genuinely pleased with the invention and tight, cottony fabric. Irisviel wastes no time, sliding her fingers – she hopes they aren’t too cold, she can’t feel them as well herself anymore -  under the band and pushing it up and over Saber’s head, loosing more of Saber’s blonde hair in the process. Saber is still blushing, but she meets Irisviel’s eyes resolutely and does not shy away when Irisviel palms her breasts. They are smaller than her own, but still fill her hands – she can understand why it would have been painful and restricting to bind them. Saber’s expression changes; At first, she seemed to feel nothing at all, but now she blinks twice, rapidly, and makes a small sound in her throat as Irisviel’s palms massage circles against her nipples, coaxing them to hard peaks. She shifts her attention, flicking the nail of her thumb over Saber’s left nipple and is rewarded with watching Saber jump and grunt. She continues to flick and massage the left one with her hand, and brings her mouth closer to the other.

                “Irisviel, what are you – ahn!” Saber cuts herself off when she feels the hot swirl of Irisviel’s tongue on her other nipple, and then the sensation of it being encased between her lips. Irisviel pulls it into her mouth, alternating a sucking pressure and swirling circles with the tip of her tongue. When she pinches the left nipple, Saber’s hips jump off the rug, causing her to bump against Irisviel. Irisviel lets the nipple in her mouth go, kissing the slick tip of it. She looks up to gauge Saber’s reaction, and the sight is heady. Saber’s face has flushed and her lips are firmly together – she looks much as Irisviel expected she would: as if she feels guilty for enjoying this, and is fighting to keep her composure at all costs.

                She tries to set her at ease, scraping her thumbnail back and forth across Saber’s wet right nipple. “Does this feel good?” she asks in a whisper. Saber hesitates before curtly nodding, caught somewhere between wanting to reassure Irisviel while also denying it herself. “Saber,” Irisviel begins, kissing hot, wet trails up Saber’s neck, pressing her tongue against the pressure points until she is speaking in Saber’s ear. “You lived your whole life without actually enjoying it.” She punctuates this by flicking her tongue into the whorls of Saber’s ear. Saber hums and it vibrates pleasantly against her lips. “I was never given a choice about mine, so I must enjoy it where I can.” Another lick, and Saber’s breath catches. “So there is no need for either of us to feel guilty around each other. This is war; we were both created for it, and it’s all we have ever known. So let me take you away from all of that for a moment. I’m here, I’m safe, if anyone plans an attack we’ll feel it in advance – you have nothing else to focus on right now. Please. Relax,” she smiles and tilts her head, the silk of her hair falling over her bare skin. “For me?”

                Saber regards her for a moment, and she can see the moment Saber relents. Her shoulders become less tense and fall, her jaw unclenches. The corner of her mouth turns up and she raises a hand, cupping Irisviel’s cheek and searching her eyes. “I did dream of this once,” Saber admits. “I pushed it down, convinced myself that it had nothing to do with being a perfect King. However…” she looks almost ashamed. “I have difficulty denying you anything you ask, Irisviel.”

                Irisviel grins. “I know. How you balanced all of those shopping bags and boxes I will never know.”

                “My agility skill is not as good as some of the other classes, but when compensated with-”

                “Saber!”

                Saber laughs. It strikes through Irisviel and makes her heart beat strangely, as if she has heard something rare and beautiful. It is a throaty sound, not loud, but musical in tone. “Forgive me,” she says, and presses a chaste kiss against Irisviel’s lips. Irisviel eagerly deepens it, forcing her tongue between Saber’s lips and returning her attention to Saber’s neglected breasts. It seems a beautiful thing to her that they’re so sensitive – not ironic, but appropriate. Her own she could give or take, really, but she feels as if she is playing a musical instrument, the way a sweep or her palm or a light pinch can coax sounds she cannot describe from Saber’s throat.

                Growing bold, she reaches a hand down to unbuckle Saber’s belt, which thankfully does not take as much fumbling as the shirts had. She pops the button open and snakes her hand in, seeking the radiating heat at the juncture of Saber’s legs. She presses her fingers against the fabric of Saber’s simple cotton underwear – black, since Irisviel had picked that out as well – and slides them up and down in slow, pressurized strokes. Then – yes, the fabric _is_ growing damper, and Saber utters a strangled cry, slamming her eyes shut. To Irisviel’s delight, Saber’s legs open wider, allowing her more purchase. Her hand is trapped against the restriction of Saber’s dress pants but she plays here a moment, long strokes becoming teasing little circles around the top of her slit, right where she imagines Saber’s clit to be. Saber’s arms are shaking; Irisviel takes pity on her, urging her back onto the rug, supported by her elbows. She removes her hand and makes quick work of Saber’s shoes, socks, and shucking her pants the rest of the way off. She is left with the sight of Saber, naked from the waist up, leaning back for her in the firelight. It is intoxicating.

                She crawls forward, kissing Saber with dry, deep pressure to reassure her while her nails graze a trail up her bare leg. To her great surprise, her fingers meet with wetness all the way on the insides of Saber’s thighs. Saber looks equally surprised, and glances down at her own body. “I…” she begins, then looks helplessly up at Irisviel, unable to find the words.

                “You’ve really never done this before, have you? Not even to yourself?” Irisviel asks gently, realizing that, though Saber is several thousand years her senior, when it comes to this matter she has a bit more experience than the King of Knights. She also can’t help feeling a little bit flattered.  

 Saber shakes her head, her face reddening. “…As I said, there was never a need to consummate my marriage. Because I could not conceive a child with Guinevere, I did not see a reason to…er…know her…in the way that…” She frowns. “Wait, to myself?”

It is charming, the way that cool, composed Saber is so obviously struggling with this subject. Smiling, Irisviel leans in and kisses her again, gently licking at her lips until Saber flushes and relents, opening her mouth to exploration once more.

When they part, they are both panting. “Saber,” Irisviel asks, “I won’t do anything else without your permission. Is it alright to…touch you now?” While the exact logistics of it are unclear to Irisviel, she still has a moment of vertigo realizing that this is not just her husband’s Servant and her (friend? Is that what they are to each other?) that she is kissing, this is _King Arthur_. And one likely does not just shove their fingers into their King’s weeping sex, no matter how eager the King may appear.

Saber nods, appreciating the sentiment. “Please…and…may I, as well? Touch you, Irisviel?”

“Oh, Saber!” she says, kissing her enthusiastically. “I’ll go crazy if you don’t!”

Again, Saber laughs. It’s a sound she realizes she may not hear again, but is beginning to hope for. The laugh dissolves into moaning when she returns her fingers to rubbing against Saber’s underwear, wiggling them into her slit as far as the fabric will allow. When Saber is thoroughly distracted, she slides her hand under the waistband, her fingers finally meeting with bare, slick flesh.

She slips two fingers between Saber’s wet folds, seeking and finding the hooded button of her clit. Saber bucks under her, cries out in surprise. She meets eyes with Irisviel, who has been watching her expression to gauge how well she is doing. She seems incredulous, and has trouble focusing on anything in front of her.

“Do you like that? Is that alright?”

“Y-Yes,” Saber manages. “Irisviel-”

“Mmhmn?”

Saber doesn’t say anything, but leans her head back, exposing the strong column of her throat, which is working as she swallows. Irisviel shifts what she is doing, slips lower to play at Saber’s opening, grinding against her clit with the base of her fingers. Saber seems to enjoy this and leaves her head back, eyes shut. Irisviel takes advantage of the position, scooting lower so that she can pull Saber’s underwear all the way off. Enthusiastically, she dives back, spreading Saber open with one hand and licking her firmly from bottom to top.

“AhhIRISIVIEL!” is her reward, sharp and surprised. Saber does look down now, completely floored by this turn of events, embarrassment warring on her face with desire. “What are you doing?!”

Irisviel answers her by licking again, thrusting her tongue as far as she can get it into Saber’s passage. She massages Saber’s inner walls, breathing hotly against her as Saber quakes and cries out. Her name spills from Saber’s lips in disjointed incarnations of itself and soon enough, she feels Saber’s fingers threading through her hair. She does not pull Irisviel forward, but Irisviel can feel the restraint in her hips as Saber tries not to buck herself against Irisviel’s hot, insistent mouth. She pushes in until she absolutely can go no deeper, her chin wet, her jaw beginning to ache. She pulses her tongue in time to Saber’s cries ( _“Mn – mn – Ir-ahn!”)_ and loses herself in the act. Saber is so incredibly hot around her, the inner muscles contracting to trap her tongue. It’s a cue she recognizes, and she pulls back. She doesn’t want it to end – not this way, not just yet. Saber’s chest heaves, and a thin bead of sweat trails between her breasts and pools in her navel. She looks down at Irisviel, confused and desperate. To compensate, Irisviel slips a finger inside her – just to the knuckle. Saber squeezes around her, moaning, shifting down to accept more. Since she is feeling brave, Irisviel adds another and pumps them, shallowly, just so far as her tongue had gone. Saber eagerly starts to move again and looks exasperated when Irisviel removes her fingers again. She grins at Saber, unabashed, and makes a show of sliding her fingers against her own tongue, licking them clean of the slick fluid coating them.

 “Oh, Saber…you taste lovely.” She closes her eyes and hums in pleasure, sliding both fingers completely into her mouth. Saber doesn’t have an answer for that, but visibly shivers, affected by this display.

“Irisviel…” she manages. “Please.”

Irisviel quirks an amused eyebrow. “Please what?”

“Please…I…want…” It’s cruel to make her say it; obviously this is uncomfortable for her King of Knights, but the truth is that Irisviel has a streak she seldom acknowledges – a silvery thread inside of her that enjoys power, enjoys the rare moments when she gets to be in control. And this is harmless enough, as power goes.

“What do you want, Saber?”

The flush across Saber’s strong cheek bones has deepened, but to her credit, she steels her voice.  “Touch me. Please. I cannot abide this maddening game.”

It’s so polite, so Old World chivalrous, that Irisviel decides to be merciful. Later, she thinks, if there is a later, they will see how much Saber can truly ‘abide,’ but for now she slips her fingers back in, corkscrewing them a little deeper than before. Saber does not seem to mind and squeezes around her gratefully. Irisviel bends her head and laps at the top of Saber’s sex, probing with her tongue until she finds the thin hood hiding the little bundle of nerves she seeks. She decides that she has succeeded when Saber gives a keening cry and tosses her head to one side, biting down on her own knuckle to suppress the sound. She nibbles at it gently, using her tongue to push the hood of flesh up and away until she can take her clit directly into her mouth. She begins to suck, alternating between pressure and gentle little flicks, setting a proper rhythm. Saber’s hips jerk without the same restrained control, and she tries to find purchase by digging her heels into the rug; Irisviel answers by shifting the movement of her fingers, curling them upwards, and Saber lifts herself off the ground. She goes silent – mouth open, body shaking; Irisviel thinks that she has seen very few things quite this beautiful in her brief time since creation.

Saber comes back down to Earth, quivering on the rug, audibly trying to catch her breath. Irisviel pulls herself up beside her, rests her head on Saber’s chest, listens to the phantom, erratic beat of Saber’s deceptively human heart. They lay like that for a span of time while Saber adjusts and Irisviel amuses herself by tracing patterns between the little light freckles that dot the valley between Saber’s breasts.

She nearly melts when she feels a gentle kiss being pressed into her hair. Saber’s arm wraps around her, pulls her closer. There is something about Saber that makes her feel…secure, protected. She curls into Saber’s side and closes her eyes.

…Opens them again when she feels a hand on her stomach, heading south.

She looks up to find Saber smiling, a definite sparkle in her eyes.

“Saber?” She had half imagined that Saber would close up, decide this was a mistake, tuck her chastely into bed and insist that they rest for a long day. In a way, she still doesn’t know what to expect.

“It is a knight’s duty to tend to the needs of her Lady. I would hate to be remiss in my duties.”

She smiles back. It’s…well, almost a little bit cheesy, but it makes her giggle and – yes, even blush. Saber takes this as consent and her hand creeps lower even as Saber bends forward, kissing the hollow of where Irisviel’s shoulder meets her neck. The result is instantaneous; Saber’s mouth is soft, and burns a trail of wet kisses from her neck to her throat to her hairline. When she pants heavily into Irisviel’s ear, they are both surprised at the strangled sound of desire and the way Irisviel’s body jerks. Experimentally, Saber does it again, and again Irisviel responds in a way she was not aware she could. The gust of Saber’s breath so intimately against her has her so wet that she can feel it seeping onto her thighs. “Saber,” she pants. Doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants.

Saber, as usual, is two steps ahead of her. Her voice is rumbling and low. “What is it, my Princess?”

It’s an unusually intimate epithet, one she hasn’t heard since their first night in Japan. She wonders if it’s just for effect. She secretly hopes it is not. She whimpers and searches for Saber’s hand, yanking it down to where she desperately needs it.

Saber’s quiet chuckling doesn’t help. Their mutual realization of the effect of her voice on Irisviel is something they both seem ready to exploit. She slips two fingers over Irisviel’s slit, plump and glistening, and rests them there. “How may I be of service, Lady?”

Irisviel pushes up impatiently. “I don’t care what you do, just keep talking.” It comes out demanding but feathery, barely more than a whisper, but Saber is more forgiving than she. Her fingers slide in and find the hood of her clit with more ease than Irisviel had managed. She spares a brief thought for whether or not being instantly good at sex factors into one of Saber’s skills, but the thought is chased away when Saber begins to speak. She talks mostly nonsense, telling Irisviel about the woods outside Camelot and the way the lake looks under the moon. It’s not bad as prose, but it’s Saber’s husked, reverberating voice, murmured into the shell of her ear and punctuated by deliberate hot breaths and little flicks of Saber’s tongue, that has her slick against Saber’s hand. Saber rubs her firmly, assuredly, and picks up speed. It is sometime around the battle of the River Bassas that she realizes her vision is starting to swim and she is agonizingly close.

Saber stops. Irisviel could kill her.

But then reconsiders as Saber starts kissing a path south, taking time to mimic Irisviel’s earlier exploration of her breasts. Her fingers don’t retreat, but their movement is slow – more unhurried, circular motions against her clit that have her biting her lip and making urgent, mewling sounds, which double in volume when Saber pulls her nipple into her mouth and begins to suck. She takes a maddening amount of time to tease each nipple into peaks, even being so brave as to nip the tips with her teeth, soothing them with broad sweeps of her tongue. Irisviel tries to be patient – she truly does – but even she hadn’t pushed Saber this far. She reaches down and grabs hold of Saber’s wrist, and Saber meets eyes with her.

She tries to look as needy and pitiful as she can, fluttering her lashes and chewing at her lower lip. “I need you inside me. Please.”

Saber gives what amounts to a little bow. “As you wish.” Then there are fingers filling her – three from the feel of it – and Saber is curling her fingers up just as Irisviel did and touching a spot Irisviel has never noticed before, something that has her shaking in minutes –

But Saber is not done there. She bends lower, lapping at Irisviel’s wet lips. This is something entirely new; She’s known the theory of it, but has never had this done to her. The feeling is…is…something beyond words, and she cries Saber’s name when Saber finds her target, taking the swollen bud into her mouth, learning, it would seem, by example.

Saber is diligent, pushing her tongue between the slick, soft lips and establishing a rhythm, keenly in tune to Irisviel’s gasps. She can feel herself swell, grow hotter around Saber’s mouth and nose. She refuses to look down, instead gazes blearily at the fresco on the ceiling. The heat of Saber’s breath against her skin has her quaking. She shifts her hips, impaling herself more fully on Saber’s fingers. Saber compensates by changing to rough, deep, penetrating thrusts in time with rapid flicks of her tongue.

“S – S…” is all she can manage, and this degrades into shallow gasps and high, helpless cries whenever Saber happens to hit something in just the right way.

Saber pulls her head away, licking a circle around her glistening mouth. Irisviel feels the loss of her keenly, but Saber seems to have a stroke of inspiration. Her other hand replaces her mouth, two fingers pushing down against her clit and rubbing in hard, beating strokes. She locks her gaze onto Irisviel, green eyes inhumanly bright in the glow of the fire. For a heartbeat, her movements cease.

Against the rush of blood in her ears, Irisviel hears her whisper – fervid, intense. “I need to see you when you fall.”

Everything redoubles – the fingers inside her pound into her, the ones against her clit rub until it burns, and the entire world dissolves in an instant. Someone screams, but it is swallowed by the thunder of her heart and the sensation of drowning in liquid light. Through it all, someone is murmuring her name.

It takes a sluggish moment to crawl back to wakefulness, but when she does, strong arms have her cradled against something soft that smells of woodsmoke. She blinks slowly – once to find the world again, and twice to bring it into focus. When it swims together and clears, Saber is smoothing her hair and regarding her with unreadable, gentle eyes.

“Are you alright?” Saber asks, giving her the same perfunctory once-over that Irisviel has become accustomed to.

Irisviel wrinkles her nose at Saber, but playfully. “I should say so. My!”

The corner of Saber’s mouth twitches and Irisviel kisses her. She can feel the smile blooming beneath her, and tastes herself against Saber’s lips. It’s addicting, and soon she is moving against Saber in undulating waves, sucking Saber’s bottom lip into her mouth and nibbling at it, coaxing the fire in her belly that is abated but not extinguished.

“Are you?” she asks between kisses.

Saber seems disinterested in talking and more interested in exploring the back side of her teeth, of massaging Irisviel’s tongue with hers. “Hn?” she hums, absently.

“Are you alright? Did you enjoy that?” she repeats. Somehow her hand has begun to pluck at Saber’s nipple, bringing it back to full alertness.

Saber nods, distracted, lashes lowering. And then, because that doesn’t seem enough, she says “Yes.” It is not her most eloquent answer but Irisviel accepts it, because Saber is pulling her closer by the hips and insinuating her thigh between Irisviel’s legs.

“Saber?” Irisviel purrs her name, rolling against Saber in slow, languid waves.

“Mn.” Saber’s mouth has occupied itself by sucking at a spot near Irisviel’s collarbone, which most assuredly will leave a mark in the morning.

“Saber…”

She doesn’t answer this time, pulling Irisviel closer and reaching down to part her lips, pressing her thigh solidly into Irisviel’s wet heat and sliding Irisviel against her by the grip on her hips.

“Saber?”

Saber pulls back, trying not to look annoyed. “Yes?”

Irisviel grins, flushing. “I…I was just wondering how brave you were feeling.”

This seems to give Saber pause. “What do you wish of me, Irisviel?”

It has always seems unusual to her, the way that Saber uses her name so often, but the way she says it this time is special. There is a winded, cracked edge to it that is exciting and raw. It is the choice of words, however, that makes her realize Saber still does not fully conceive that this is outside of her duties as a Servant, but rather has everything to do with her as a person. Irisviel doesn’t answer her, but reaches past and around her to tug on the ribbon holding what was left of Saber’s ponytail together. When it loosens, her blonde hair falls forward and frames her face, making her look, oddly enough, even more androgynous, but also…the only word Irisviel can find for it is “majestic.” The bright gold of it reflects the firelight, and it strikes Irisviel that Saber was made for this kind of light. She practically glows from within.

“I want to thank you for your service,” Irisviel says, but that sounds hollow and cold. She looks up and meets eyes with Saber, cupping her face and smiling. “Not out of obligation, but because you deserve more than the distant, courtly love of your country and Queen. You deserve to be loved. I want to give that to you tonight.” She pauses. “…Arturia.”

The shock of hearing her own name – not on the battlefield, or as some kind of summons, but in the sweet, private voice of this woman – breaks something in Saber. In a thousand years of living, never has her name been said like this. Her eyes become a bit more reflective, her face less stern. She leans forward for a kiss, tipping Irisviel’s face up gently by her chin and pressing their lips together, warm and sweet and lingering. When they part, she has a small, unguarded smile.

“You already have.”

It is a visible change. In this moment, she is no longer the Heroic Spirit, ethereal and comprised of numbers and abilities and strategy. She is Arturia Pendragon, the girl King who never learned to love – human, breathing heavily, naked on the rug.

“I’m glad,” Irisviel kisses her again, can’t help but kiss her when she looks like that. “But…well, I’ve noticed something about you and…”

It’s her turn to be shy. Saber tilts her head, inquisitive. “Irisviel?”

Irisviel steels herself. “I’ve noticed that you take particular pleasure in your riding skill. You seem most carefree when you’re driving, and I know you have a soft spot for that motorcycle.” She can see Saber’s mind working as she puzzles out where this is going, so she rushes on before Saber can come up with anything too wild. “And…this won’t be the same, but…I thought maybe…”

Saber interrupts her, soothingly.  “You can be forthright with me. In fact, I would prefer it if you were.”

Well, all or nothing she supposed. Irisviel took a breath and let it out, gathering her courage. “I...er…bought something, when we went shopping earlier. The truth is...I’ve had this one my mind for a while, practically since I met you and…well…I didn’t know if the opportunity would present itself, but I-” This was getting her nowhere. She stood up from the rug and went over to her suitcase, rummaging into one of the side pockets and returning with something in her hands. “I thought…you might want to use that skill. On, well, me.” She thrust it out for Saber to see.

Saber took it and turned it over in her hands, and still comprehension took a while to dawn. It was a bizarre looking thing – smooth, purple, with one long, horizontal, protruding end. The other end formed a sort of “L,” with a shorter bulb and a curved ridge toward the base. At the back, there was a dial. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they were much wider.

“Oh…” she said. And then, “Oh!”

It was Irisviel’s turn to blush, the embarrassment bringing life to her pallor. “If you’d rather not, I understand. It was just an idea, I…”

“Would very much like to…”

“If you think it will…”

“I do,” Saber finishes with the ghost of a smile, something difficult to discern coloring her eyes. When she looks up and Irisviel can see the dark of her pupils, the flush of her lips, can _smell_ her –

“Just explain what to do.” Saber brings her in for a kiss, and Irisviel feels her heart flutter in her chest. She hadn’t actually thought this would pan out, but the way Saber had looked when she had the handlebars in her hands, the determination and precision of her movements – it made her press her thighs together to alleviate some of the ache.

“Ah,” she says, distracted by Saber kissing her way down her throat. “The…longer end goes inside of me.” Her voice falters; Saber, ever the quick study, is lightly raking her nails across Irisviel’s nipples. “And then…the other…”

With a surprising show of boldness, Saber wraps her arms around Irisviel’s thighs and pulls their bodies flush together. This – the promise of what she is asking Saber to do – has excited something in Saber, Irisviel can see it burning in her eyes. It is a test of power, a use of her skills, married with the courtly need to take care of the woman in her charge…the anticipation of it flickers across her face and her breathing is unsteady. She is rocking against Irisviel; The position is not a productive one, but she realizes that the little urgent jerks are unintentional. The idea that Saber can’t help herself from doing this is incredibly exciting on its own.

Saber takes the toy, tests the heft of it in her hands. She slides back, dragging the longer end of it along Irisviel’s stomach and down between her legs. She plays with it here, running the flared head along Irisviel’s lips, slicking it with a thin sheen of clear fluid. Irisviel squirms, seeking purchase against the light touches, but she is no longer the one in control here. She catches Saber smirking, which earns her a light smack on the hip.

“It’s impolite to tease,” Irisviel pouts. Saber quirks an eyebrow at her and the head meets her clit, bumping up against its already sensitized nerves.

“I believe it would be considered impolite to penetrate my Master’s wife, yet we seem to have moved past that some time ago.”

It is the closest thing Irisviel has heard to a joke from the Servant since her materialization, and a surge of fondness for her has her smiling. “So let’s move a little faster past it, shall we, hmm?”

Saber bends to kiss the pale glow of her shoulder, whispers throatily against her ear, “However I may serve you, milady.” With Saber’s breath sending delicious little tingles down her body, she barely registers that something is seeking entrance to her body before the head of it is already pushing into her passage. She does not resist; she is already so wet that there is very little friction sliding in. Still Saber moves slowly, caught between the need to move and concern for her lady’s well-being. Irisviel does not rush her, enjoys the heavy push and slide. It has been a while, but this time, it registers as more than just dimly pleasant. Now she savors the feeling of slowly being filled, the insistent pressure made more pleasurable by teeth nipping delicately at the chords of her neck.

By the time it is buried mostly within her, her whole body is hot and trembling. “Saber…” she breathes in wonder, squeezing experimentally around the toy and humming in pleasure. Saber is watching her intently, tongue sneaking out to dampen her dry lips. Again she waits, ever chivalric even when she so obviously, desperately _wants_ – so much that her knuckles have gone white, balled into fists on her thighs.

Irisviel feels intensely treasured, held in a gaze like this. She reaches a hand out, beckoning Saber closer.

Saber frowns, but shifts towards her obediently. Irisviel smiles, appreciating the sight of her flushed, vulnerable Knight, waiting for her permission, warmed by firelight. Irisviel reaches a hand down, sliding two of her fingers against Saber’s opening until Saber’s eyes fall halfway closed and her lips part. She slips them past the light thatch of gold hair and finds the little nub she is looking for, rubbing her finger in slow, lazy circles designed to tease.

“Now,” she says. “Your turn.”

It is close enough to consent for Saber that she lifts herself up, positioning herself above Irisviel, who takes a moment to appreciate the strength and musculature of Saber’s still-feminine form. Saber begins to lower herself down onto the protruding end, wincing in discomfort and pushing herself more than she ought to. “Don’t rush, take your t-” Irisviel tries to say, but before she has finished her sentence, Saber takes the pony end all the way inside herself. She closes her eyes, controlling her breathing to mask her discomfort, but Irisviel knows only too well how difficult the pressure was to take the first time experiencing it. Kiritsugu had been gentlemanly, waiting for her to adjust for a bit before he started to move, but it had not been pleasant or enjoyable; She had not loved him then. She trails her hand down Saber’s smooth stomach, slips a finger between her folds to her clit, resuming her rubbing motion to try and gently encourage her. The frown lines in Saber’s forehead relax and soon she opens her eyes, meeting Irisviel’s with less than her customary alertness.

“Does it feel alright?” Irisviel asks, keeping up her ministrations.

“I am…unsure,” Saber responds, honestly. She settles her weight completely and Irisviel finds her fingers trapped by the raised ridge meant to brush against the user’s clit. She wiggles them free and lines the toy back up helpfully, smiling as Saber’s lashes flutter. She lifts her legs a bit, reaches between them to find the dial and turns it up to a moderately low setting. The change is instant. Saber cries out, shock and, for a moment, fright written on her face. Then her eyes close and she makes a long, guttural sound in her throat that burns a trail all the way down Irisviel’s back to the juncture of her legs, and she gives a little thrust of her hips. It isn’t planned, but the effect it has is unexpected. Saber bends forward, braces her hands on either side of Irisviel’s head, moves her hips experimentally. Her eyes blaze, dark and wild, and Irisviel can see the intense trembling in her form as she struggles to keep still.  

                “Don’t hold back,” Irisviel begs, arching her hips to fill herself as deeply as she can. Saber shudders and she can feel it as well. She’s broken a dam – the self-restraint melts from Saber’s tense muscles, as if she has been waiting for permission all this time. Free of self-control, Saber begins to thrust into her, at first learning how best to go. It was this instinct that gave Irisviel the idea in the first place, the offhanded way Saber mentioned her riding skill when they stepped off the plane into Japan. She watches Saber learning, making sense of things in her mind, testing movements and how best to hold the bulbed end inside of herself. It is like watching something lock into place, the moment she decides she has everything figured out. With renewed confidence, she drives into Irisviel - increasingly desperate, grinding herself furiously against the vibrating ridge pressed against her clit. Her hair swings back and forth over her shoulders as she moves, threads of it sticking to her face with sweat. Eyes shut, mouth parted on deep, hot gasps, like a furnace bellows, she is the most magnificent thing Irisviel has ever seen. She can’t stop watching, can’t tear her eyes from this; She wants to burn it into her memory so that even at the last, when her body melts away into blackness, she’ll have Arturia’s face, her need, lighting a fire in the dark.

                She reaches down, turns the dial up, can feel herself start to pulse around the toy. Saber has mastered an angle that has each thrust bumping against a spot inside her that makes her shake and tears leak from her eyes. She grips Saber’s arms, and she can tell Saber is close. Her movements are becoming unchecked, erratic, and she cannot get a full breath of air. Irisviel reaches between them, spreads her own lips and presses fully up against Saber so that every drive of her body brushes against her overly-sensitive clit. She feels herself spiraling, up and towards something undefined and unreachable, driven forward by the broken sounds Saber is gusting against her skin.

                She looks up and cups her cheek, Saber’s face a dark silhouette against the molten gold. In the stillness, she breathes Saber’s true name.

                That is all Saber needs, and together they feel the twisted coils inside them release, liquid warmth spreading through them both. Saber cries out, long and unbroken, thrusting shallowly into her as she comes around and on top of Irisviel before falling forward into Irisviel’s waiting arms, riding out the shuddering of her aftershocks as Irisviel presses kisses into her hair.

                She cannot be still. Again her body twists, the heat bubbling under her skin. “Oh, Saber, look at you,” Irisviel says, amused and sympathetic. Already the King of Knights was squirming in what was obviously not a complete release of need. “You really were worked up, weren’t you? Calm down, let me help.”

                “Iris-” Saber pants, her full name too much to manage at this point. “Please, I –”

                “Whatever you need.” Irisviel kisses her, pushes her gently back, switching their positions. The toy slides out of her with a wet pop, but she pays it no mind, instead diving in to suck one of Saber’s nipples, earning a near-exhausted cry from her Knight. She turns the dial up on the toy, still buried deep within Saber, causing Saber to lift her hips off the rug and begin making strangled, repeated sounds. With one hand she works it in and out of Saber in shallow, horizontal thrusts, and the other slides between Saber’s lips to begin rubbing her clit. The sounds Saber is making are beautiful, desperate little high pitched cries, so different from everything else so far. She opens her unfocused eyes to find Irisviel, who kisses them closed again. “Sshh, it’s okay, I’m here for you,” she says as she increases her tempo. Saber bucks off the rug – once, twice, three times, until she throws her head back and cries soundlessly, frozen in a perfect arc. When she crashes back down, she is shaking and spent.

                Irisviel covers her face in gentle kisses, murmuring encouragement and support. She reaches down and turns the dial off, the room becoming markedly quieter without the loud buzzing. It takes a moment for the heaving of Saber’s chest to calm, but while she waits for her breath to steady, she rests with her head buried into Irisviel’s neck. They lay like that for so long that Irisviel swears Saber has fallen asleep. Finally, she murmurs something groggily against the damp hollow of Irisviel’s skin.

                “What was that?” Irisviel whispers, running a hand over Saber’s blonde hair to smooth it.

                Saber lifts her head and looks at her, exhausted but with a small smile. “I only asked if you were alright.”

                Something heavy clenches her heart and heat pricks in her eyes. After all of that, knowing full well the weight of what had just happened for Saber, still her first concern was the well-being of her charge. Irisviel presses a feverish kiss, wet with a trace of salt in the corners, against Saber’s willing mouth. Saber returns it tiredly and shifts them around, tucking Irisviel against her side with a protective arm. Irisviel draws designs on the muscles of Saber’s stomach, which twitch in response. They lay that way for a while, listening to the fire crackle, the house settling, the rhythm of their artificial heartbeats against the muted ticking of the clock.

                “The fire has gone low,” Saber says, and makes to get up to tend it. Irisviel catches her hand and looks up, suddenly afraid of the idea of being left in her own bed to get through the rest of the night.

                “Saber…will you stay with me?” She hadn’t meant it to sound quite so sad.

                Saber smiles at her, kisses her forehead and lingers there, pulls back to stroke her cheek. “I could hardly do otherwise.”

                She sits up so that Saber can move to the fire, holding her hand until she is out of reach, watching Saber add another log and worrying the coals until the room again fills with soft orange light.

                It isn’t permanent, and they may not have another night like this – but for now.

                For now, they find some peace in having someone to guard against the cold.  

 

 


End file.
